


Justice

by apostapals (apostapal)



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Aberdeen Surana, F/M, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 15:22:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7897822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apostapal/pseuds/apostapals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end, he's so much more than a mere idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Justice

“What are you doing?”

Surana had some bundle of herbs she was stuffing into the back of Kirstoff's—no, his armor. She stopped and leaned forward to grin at Justice.

“You smell funny.”

“I inhabit a corpse, commander.” he replied blandly.

“Still no reason to stink.” she said, curls bouncing as she got to her feet, “And I’ve told you, you can just call me Aberdeen.”

The Warden-Commander was a strange mortal. A mage, tugging strings in the darkest arts, but still somehow ethical. Justice had not once seen her consider dealing with demons.

He liked her. It was an odd sensation.  
“I am a warrior. I’ve often been covered in ogre spit and tainted blood. Flowers will do little.” he pressed.

Aberdeen shrugged.

“Doesn’t hurt you, does it?”

Lavender. His senses in that body were dull but Justice remembered the scent. It smelled of calm and peace.

Lyrium serenades. Lavender calms. Surana was full of ways to make his days easier.

“Do spirits get crushes?” Anders teased, watching the way Justice squirmed when Aberdeen patted his cheeks after a close call, “I think he’s smitten.”

“Love is not a concept that works for me as it does you, mage.” Justice replied sharply, narrowing his cloudy eyes over the top of Aberdeen’s hair at Anders.

The healer and Nathaniel just laughed.

“Love isn’t what I do, stuffy.” Anders quipped, “I’m talking more carnal interests.”

“ _Never!_ ”

Aberdeen was fighting laughter too then but she turned to scold the other wardens off the subject.

The Warden-Commander looked after her wardens like children, truthfully. Bundling Anders in scarves and reminding Sigrun to water her plants, proofreading Oghren’s letters and mending Nathaniel’s torn shirts, reminding Velanna to eat and, yes, putting flowers in his armor. Spirits do not have families. Justice was a happy exception.

He did his best to understand them.

“The commander fights for the freedom of mages, why not you?”

“Ugh, this again?” Anders bristled and looked up from his dinner as Justice sat across from him.

“I simply wish to understand why you don’t at least support her more. The two of you argued in Amaranthine the other day.”

“She’s a _radical_.” Anders replied and poked his spoon towards Justice, “We can’t just dissolve the Circles to nothing.”

“And why not?”

Anders’ spoon drooped, his grip loosening in concentration, and he sighed.

“Well, we just… we can’t?”

“They’ve told you this.” Justice replied firmly, “You know this is the only reason you think it.”

Anders frowned at him and looked back at his meal.

“You sound like her. I’m not in the mood, Justice—you’re not even eating, just shoo.”

Justice got to his feet but paused before leaving.

“Go speak with her, Anders. Bickering bothers you.”

Anders didn’t look up but he did sigh as he dipped his spoon back into his stew.

“I remember when she was the munchkin apprentice that bit a templar. Now look at her; all in charge and trying to change things. I wonder what would have happened if Karl hadn’t convinced her to talk..?”

“Who is Karl?”

Anders visibly tensed and shot Justice a sour look. He smacked his hands onto the table and got to his feet, snapping, “ _None of your concern._ ” and leaving before Justice could say any more.

Later that evening he passed the door to Aberdeen’s office just in time to watch Anders pass a flask across the piled paperwork to the commander. They were both laughing and Justice only smiled to himself as he walked on down the hall.

Anders had known her, of her and about her, longer than anyone else there. The Circle was the smallest big tower Justice could imagine. Stories passed between them like inside jokes. Shared lives but different eyes.

He noticed how they left windows and doors open just to know they could. How they’d drop everything to stand in a sudden rainstorm or watch a clear sunset. He noticed how some of the nightmares that pulled them from bed on late nights weren’t about darkspawn.

Once, he watched Aberdeen headbutt a helmet-less templar when the woman spat the word ‘maleficar’ at Anders.

“ _I am._ ” she admitted later, as Anders healed the knot on her forehead, “But he’s not. He’s a warden, she can’t tell him what he is.”

Freedoms so simple required taint for them to gain. It hardly seemed like living no matter what way it was spun. Something in Justice’s dead chest burnt hot.

Eventually, the body wore down. He’d promised to give it back when they were done. Justice was in the middle of writing his goodbyes, having stolen use of the Warden-Commander’s desk, when Anders came to him.

“So, Justice, I’ve been thinking…”

Surana was away on business during this. The keep was mingled with Orlesian wardens—ones she hadn’t met and ones she wouldn’t like. But with Warden Alistair away as well there was little anyone could do about it.

He hadn’t wanted to say goodbye. It was the true reason Justice entertained the idea at all. The mage’s own reasons only encouraged him further.

“Aber’s taking me to find Karl when she gets back. The Gallows—they sound awful, Justice. We… _I_ have to do something.”

Justice smiled.

“She found a freedom fighter in you after all.”

Anders wrinkled his noise at him but did not argue.

Joining with a living body was not enjoyable. Every one of Anders’ senses screamed where Kristoff’s had only whispered. Their feelings muddled, confused as to whose belonged where at first. Eventually, Justice made sense of it.

“Comfy in there?” Anders joked at first.

By his own admission, Justice laughed.

Justice wasn’t sure how long passed when the strange wardens turned on Anders. He knew Aberdeen wasn’t back yet. They had to run before she could return—leaving Anders’ armor and Justice’s letter where she could find them later. Sigrun would look after the cat Anders was forced to leave at the keep.

Anders wept on the boat ride to Kirkwall. Justice did too.

He hadn’t wanted to say goodbye yet.

The Gallows, Kirkwall in general, were worse than they could have imagined. Full of abusive power and suffering poor. They started doing what they could right away. Justice wasn’t sure how long it was before they met Hawke.

_Hawke._

At first, Justice didn’t like them. Hawke was another poor Ferelden seeking their fortune, nothing more. But the more they did, the more he saw of the sarcastic apostate, the more Justice softened to them.

Anders softened too. Perhaps quicker than Justice. The spirit could feel him—that warmth when Hawke was near.

Inhabiting Anders’ head became a kind of torture at times.

“Your obsession does nothing!” he hissed at Anders in a fit of exacerbation once, “Simply handle whatever physical needs you have so I might have some peace, Anders, I am sure they would enjoy it as well. I will step back for it.”

Anders’ mind flared with embarrassment and, outwardly, he dropped his staff. Hawke turned and asked if he was alright and Justice felt a little guilty at how Anders sputtered an excuse.

It took _years_. And, in the end, Anders had had the nerve to tell Hawke he didn’t approve of his obsession.

The obsession, no. But Hawke? _Hawke_ was alright.

Hawke, with a voice that hummed like lyrium. Hawke, that smelled like leather and herbs—lavender coming in mixed with elfroot and sage. Hawke, who pressed Anders’ cheeks together between their hands and reminded Justice of Surana’s affectionate gestures. Hawke, who laced their boots all wrong and ended up tripping over the dangling laces.

Justice liked Hawke. Not like Anders did—spirits do not love as mortals do—but Justice once again found himself fond of a strange mortal full of strange humor and strong kindness.

They spoke sometimes, with Anders’ permission for Justice to take over in peaceful times. It was nice; being aware and in motion when Anders’ life wasn’t at risk.

“What’s your favorite food?”

Hawke asked him the strangest things. Justice found it oddly endearing.

“I detest eating.” Justice replied, sprawled on his back—Anders’ back—on Hawke’s bed, “I recede when Anders does so.”

“Hmph, no fun.”

“I enjoy scents.” he admitted, “Lyrium, lavender, coffee, leather oil, and… bacon.”

They made breakfast that morning and Justice felt peaceful as Anders ate bacon and eggs with fresh coffee. A spring of lavender was laid across the tray when Hawke brought it in.

Hawke supported Anders—them—through it all. They loved and looked after. They soothed and protected.

Hawke loved Anders and, strangely, Hawke loved Justice too. These were different loves but they were what they needed to be.

Neither of them wanted to lie to Hawke. But they wanted to protect Hawke. As Hawke had protected them.

Hawke understood. Anders had shook with fear until they spoke, unsure if he—if they—would die for what they’d done. But Justice knew they could trust Hawke from the start. The warm arms around Anders’ shoulders as the mage got to his feet at the steps of the ruined Chantry were just affirmation.

Life on the run was tough. It took a few weeks before Justice’s nagging finally got Anders to take up Surana’s offer of safe harbor. She’d been in Kirkwall with Carver, at their side even knowing what happened, and she stood with them. She offered whatever else they needed in her power.

“You don’t have to come back as a warden—even if you are two now.” she explained, “You’re also family. I’ll burn the order down before they can take you or Justice or Hawke.”

Vigil’s Keep was a skeleton crew when they arrived. Just the same wardens they knew when Justice was in Kristoff and not Anders. Aberdeen met them at the gate, a fat ginger tabby perched on her shoulder, and threw her arms around Anders’ neck.

“Welcome home, _my brothers_.”

Anders wept, Pounce rubbing at his cheek, and Hawke wept, gripping his shoulder in support.

Justice wept too. Spirits do not have families. But Justice was more than any mere spirit anymore. He was a brother, a friend.

Later, he was a legend too. Right alongside Hawke the Champion and Surana the Hero stood Anders and Justice the Rebel. Pure inspiration for change. And finally free.


End file.
